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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28116726">kiss you once (and then some more)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/pseuds/spidermanhomecomeme'>spidermanhomecomeme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>all these things and more, darling [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A sprinkle of angst if you squint, Break-up/Make-up, Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, Peter and MJ and their relationship w mistletoe over the years, Pregnancy, Short &amp; Sweet, promptmas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:26:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,636</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28116726</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/pseuds/spidermanhomecomeme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’d do it with someone I liked and trusted. A friend or something, I don’t know.”</p>
<p>His brain short-circuits for a moment.</p>
<p>“Any of your friends?” He finds himself asking, unable to keep the nervous chuckle from bubbling up out of him. </p>
<p>She tucks an errant curl behind her ear with jittery hands. “Ah—I… I mean. Not just any friend,” she rushes to spit out. “There’s… um—” she swallows, gesturing vaguely. “—one.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michelle Jones/Peter Parker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>all these things and more, darling [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055570</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Twelve Days of Promptmas</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>kiss you once (and then some more)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>DAY THREE OF PROMPTMAS!!! GIVE IT UP FOR DAY THREE!!!</p>
<p>Here's day three with the concept: mistletoe kisses!</p>
<p>Happy Holidays, everyone!! Hope you enjoy!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
<p></p><div class=""><p>
      <em>when i close my eyes (it’s just you and i)</em>
    </p></div><div class=""><p>It’s almost a mystery, why he’d ever agreed to put himself through the torture of end of the semester gift shopping for the mentally and emotionally exhausted teachers at Midtown. It’s mid-December on a Saturday afternoon. The Karens are out in full force. The shitty jazz cover of<em> Baby, It’s Cold Outside</em> has lasted so long, he wonders if it’s just on an endless loop.</p></div><div class=""><p>But... he figures if it buys him precious time he gets to spend with MJ, then as far as he’s concerned, it’s all pretty worth it. </p></div></div><div class="">
  <p>He’s behind her at a loose follow, his hand shoved into his pockets as he glances around the aisles, trying not to only look at her. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>(He’s slightly successful at that.)</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s funny how he could almost get lost, seeing her expressions shift as she peruses the shelves, her lips twisting in thought as she picks up various pieces of festive artwork. It’s all cheesy, of course it is, though none of those seem to draw any sort of reaction from her. But, the dozens and dozens of <em>Meet Me Under the Mistletoe’s</em> get kind of old. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Though she doesn’t make any verbal indication of her dislike, her face says it all. Brows scrunched ever so slightly, mouth pulled back just a bit. It’s subtle, but Peter’s had plenty of experience staring at her face to know exactly what it is. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So, caring and curious friend that he is, asks about it. “What?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Eh, nothing,” She says, shrugging, clearly not caring. “Just that the mistletoe stuff is kind of stupid. And a bit creepy, if you think about it. Society only accepts it as a tradition because they think it’s an acceptable way to get someone to kiss you.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh,” Peter said, nodding quietly. She’s not wrong. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought of meeting MJ under the mistletoe. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Though, after hearing her thoughts, he instantly feels bad for ever thinking that about her in the first place, for ever making her play that role in his overactive imagination.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“But,” Michelle adds, still not taking her attention away from the green and red wall decor. “If there’s mutual feelings, more importantly, if there’s consent, then yeah, I guess it’s fine.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Of course, he agrees with her. Obviously. But… He’s still in that limbo of not being entirely sure what she means by all this. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I still think it’s dumb, though,” she concludes. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter nods. “Oh, yeah same.” A beat passes, he knocks his hands together, shifting on his feet as his lips purse.  He’s not sure why he thinks to open his mouth again, to ask what he’s about to ask, but he does. “So, you’d probably never try it, right?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She frowns slightly, though it’s not out of upset, only in contemplation. Her brow furrows as she shrugs, and she seems off guard. “Well… I mean—I wouldn’t say… Never…?” Her eyes briefly flick over to him once before training on another interesting sign on the display.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>If Peter hadn’t been paying attention, he might not have noticed the slight change in her disposition, the subtle switch from calm and cool to flustered. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And again, he’s a little dumbfounded as to what to do with this. What could have gotten to her? </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>After a beat, she speaks again, any traces of frayed nerves vanishing just like that. “Yeah, I’d do it with someone I liked and trusted. A friend or something, I don’t know.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His brain short-circuits for a moment.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Any of your friends?” He finds himself asking, unable to keep the nervous chuckle from bubbling up out of him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She tucks an errant curl behind her ear with jittery hands. “Ah—I… I mean. Not just any friend,” she rushes to spit out. “There’s… um—” she swallows, gesturing vaguely. “—one.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter feels his heart jump and skip into his throat, and he just knows that his ears, nose, and cheeks are all turning a bright shade of pink. Though he’s not quite sure if the nervousness he feels is because he thinks she’s talking about someone else—she must be, right?—or if he thinks she’s talking about him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But, again, as he tries to think of all their friends, it’s a short list considering how small their circle is, and he’s not sure if he’s seen MJ express interest in any of them. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>That could also mean jack shit, but it’s fine.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Ned?” He asks, somehow managing to put a teasing edge to his tone. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>MJ huffs out a light laugh. “No,” she replies simply, keeping tight-lipped. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Cindy?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She shakes her head again. “Mm-mm.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Flash?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The pointed glare she throws over her shoulder is enough to make him laugh in spite of his overactive nerves. He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay! Okay! Sorry. Got it. I’ll stop.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The corner of her lip quirks up into a slight smile, and she shakes her head, biting the inside of her cheek as she goes back to the shelves. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Even though he desperately wants to get to the bottom of this, Peter drops the subject. More than anything, he wants to know who MJ’s thought about kissing under the mistletoe. It fills him with an anxiety he hadn’t known he could feel, the butterflies in his stomach when she looks over at him close to combusting. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He wonders if he’ll ever find out, if she’ll ever feel comfortable enough to tell him. As much as he wants it to be him—God, he wishes it was—he can’t help but feel that it’s gotta be someone else. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>After all, it only makes sense. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He and MJ are just friends. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>That’s all they’ll ever be, and he’s perfectly fine with that. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>somebody waits for you (kiss her once for me)</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Flash’s party is like a minefield; a dangerous plane of holly branches hung above every doorway and low-ish railing, all done in the name of his grand scheme to get some holiday action. It works for the most part; he gets a few kisses from willing participants, and merely moonwalks away from those who scoff and turn their nose up at him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s not all that bad, Peter supposes. He just has to watch where he’s standing. Sure, he knows he’s not obligated in any way to kiss anyone, but he’d rather avoid the awkwardness if he can. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The red and green is easy enough for him to spot, just barely visible to where he only has to glance up every few feet. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Though, maybe he’s paying a little too much attention to where the mistletoe is, and not enough to where he’s actually going.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He runs into MJ not ten feet out of the kitchen. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She lets out an uncharacteristic yelp as she tumbles back, but Peter’s quick to catch her, one arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her upright again before she can hit the ground. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Sorry,” He winces, losing himself for a moment when she doesn’t look away—or pull away, her palm pressed over his heart. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He can’t help but notice how heavily she’s breathing, how fast her heart races in her chest, though he knows that that could very well be from the almost-fall. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Nice catch,” she breathes, the corner of her lips twitching into half-grin. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A beat passes before Peter realizes he hasn’t said anything, and that he hasn’t let her go yet. Clearing his throat, he yanks his arm away, reaching back to scratch his neck. “You okay?” He asks, suddenly unable to look directly at her. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She stares down at her drink—the one he’s just realized she’d been holding, thankfully not spilled—seeming to bite back a smile. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah!” She says quickly, nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She rocks back on her heels, lips pressing into a line. Another beat passes. “Where’s Ned?” She finally asks casually.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“With, uh—” Peter coughs. “With Betty.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>MJ gives a single nod, huffing out a single, soft laugh. “Should’ve guessed.” It’s her turn to clear her throat. “Do you wanna… hang out?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s funny that she asks that, because Peter’s sure that’s what his exact wish was just a second before. Neither of them should even <em>have </em>to ask, given their closeness and that they’re already at the same party talking to one another, they’re already “hanging out,” but somehow, this feels different. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter nods, and he follows her close behind to a quieter corner of the house—as quiet as it can be, filled to the brim with tipsy, hormonal teenagers and the thumping bass of an aspiring DJ-slash-Influencer. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They stand awkwardly in the corner, Peter finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes off of Michelle; the way one side of her curls is pinned back, her bangs still falling in her face. The way her flowy dress flutters every time someone opens the door to the backyard and a breeze sneaks in. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He realizes after a moment too long of just staring that she’s speaking to him. There’s a shake to her voice, a nervous chuckle under every word she says. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s cool if you don’t want to—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No, sorry, I—” He laughs, bashful, feeling a warmth flood his face. “I—didn’t hear you. What did you say?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her lips press together as she bites back another anxious laugh. “Um—” She swallows thickly, looking upward. “There’s… That.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter follows her gaze, his mouth falling open when he sees the delicate, but cheesy mistletoe hanging just above them. “Oh.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Another beat passes. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I—I um… I made a joke about us. Kissing,” MJ admits, her eyes not meeting his. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I mean—” Peter lets out a light laugh, blood rushing to his face, ringing in his ears. He feels dizzy, floaty even. “I—I’d be cool. With—with doing that.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her eyes flit up to meet his, her lips curving into that cute small smile he’s always liked. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh,” she breathes out, looking down again shyly. “Me, too.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And then, she leans in, slowly, cautiously. It feels like a million years pass before her lips touch his in the most gentle and softest of kisses, and his head swims at how sweet it all is. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Turns out, kissing his best friend might be one of the best decisions he’s ever made.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>maybe we’ll be all the love</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The three gentle raps at her window make her heart skip. She swings her legs over the side of her bed as if on instinct, wrapping the knitted blanket around her shoulders as she makes her way to the window—the one that her upside-down boyfriend’s enthusiastically waving at her through. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There’s nothing she can do to hold back her smile, even as she desperately tries to seem nonchalant when she yanks the window open a little too hard. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hey,” he says. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She can already hear his dopey smile before he rips his mask off, tossing it in her room behind her, already leaning in—to kiss her, she assumes. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hi,” she replies, quirking a brow at him, a hand coming up to his chest, holding him back. “You sure that’s safe to just… show your face like that?” A light laugh bubbles up from her, warmth blooming in her face when he shrugs, clearly not having thought that through, the idea of him being so distracted by the idea of kissing her that he throws all sense of secrecy out the window. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Eh, I mean—” He chuckles. “You’re the only one who can technically see my face, so…” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She peeks over the window pane, looking up to see that he’s hanging by a web from the above apartment’s balcony.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A shiver ripples through her when the cold December breeze picks up. Her eyes narrow into a glare. “Are you gonna come in? It’s cold. And you’re letting that in here.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His lips stretch into a cheeky smile. “Can I get a kiss first?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>MJ’s mouth twists, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“If you come inside, I’ll kiss you.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What if I told you there’s mistletoe right above us?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her expression is blank. She blinks once at him, not looking up like he wants her to. “There’s not,” she deadpans. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What if… I’m the mistletoe?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Peter—” She almost laughs, wrapping her blanket tighter around her when the cold bites at her skin. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Web-stletoe…” He muses. “Mistle-web—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Michelle leans over the window pane, her hands coming to the back of his hand and pulling him to her, capturing his lips into a sweet kiss. It’s awkward at first, with everything being all switched around, flipped upside down, but they quickly settle in to the feeling. She can feel Peter’s lips quirk upward (down for her) into a smile. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Suddenly, she finds the cold not so bad. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When she pulls back, her expression mirrors his own, even as she tries to bite back the dopey grin. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A light giggle bursts from him, making her heart strings swell with a warm crescendo. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Get inside, loser.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>i’m just gonna keep on waiting</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s cold out on the deck, but Peter doesn’t seem to mind it. As long as he’s sitting by the fire pit, he can ignore the way the breeze nips at his face, no doubt turning the tip of his nose and apples of his cheeks a bright shade of red. With the fire and a mug of hot cocoa in hand, he’s set for a peaceful night. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His friends are all still inside, no doubt drinking it up while some holiday movie plays in the background. It’s not as if he doesn’t want to be in there celebrating with them, to be listening to Flash tell his likely overdramatized stories about random celebrities he’d met while going to school in LA, to hear Gwen and Cindy drunkenly singing along to every Bublé song that comes on. It’s such an overwhelmingly happy, cheerful atmosphere inside. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So much so, that he felt he needed a moment of just… nothing. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But then, the gentle click of the backdoor opening cuts the moment short, though not that he minds really. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He looks over his shoulder, immediately standing on instinct when MJ walks through and closes the door behind her. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hey,” he breathes, smiling slightly. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She startles, not realizing he’s been out here. “Oh, hey.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There’s an awkwardness lingering in the air, pressing on his shoulders as they both offer half-hearted waves. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Breaking-up can really put a damper on things. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It had happened months ago, but it almost feels like a hundred years; so long since they’d mutually ended things before going off to college. There’s no bad blood between them. Not at all. In fact, he considers MJ to still be one of his closest friends. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Sure, they went from kissing, holding hands, sleeping together—<em>being</em> together—to just friends, but… It hasn’t been so bad. They both knew it wouldn’t last in college, both of them worried about things going south. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So, they ended everything before it had a chance to. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And again. It’s fine. These things happen. People grow apart when they go off to college. It’s perfectly normal. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Plus, Peter’s just glad that he still gets to have MJ in his life at all. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What’re you… doing out here?” She asks slowly, folding her arms across her chest to keep warm. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, uh—” He shrugs, glancing around the porch, the awning above them, back at the fire pit. He mirrors her actions, rocking back on his heels. “Just needed some air. You know. You?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She nods before letting out a faint huff of laughter. “Brad, uh—Brad just can’t seem to take a hint. So…”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A slow smile spreads across Peter’s face. “You’re hiding from him.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She recoils in defense, brow furrowing. “I am <em>not</em> hiding from him,” she insists, stepping away from the door and closer to the fire. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Closer to <em>Peter.</em> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I just… thought I’d come out here—” she starts softly, Peter finding himself drawn in immediately as she stops in front of him. She shrugs. “—at the same time he happened to go to the bathroom. Not hiding.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter’s smile grows, and he tips his head at her. “Uh-huh.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>MJ huffs, rolling her eyes goodnaturedly. She glances up to the awning above them, her mouth falling open in surprise at what she sees hanging from the rafters. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What?” Peter asks, looking up with her, feeling a warmth bloom in his face when he sees. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Mistletoe. Of course. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The two of them laugh quietly, chuckling to themselves. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Wow,” MJ says, lips twisting in amusement. “Well. I mean—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—I guess—” Peter shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—If you want,” MJ offers slowly, her eyes not leaving his, the warmth in them making his cheeks burn. There’s something in her smile that takes him all the way back to that first party he’d kissed her at, makes him want to lean in. “For old time’s sake?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He chuckles breathily. “Yeah. For old time’s sake.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It should be harmless, right? At least, that’s what he thinks as he leans in, his hand naturally finding a home on the side of her face, delicately cupping her jaw as he presses his lips to hers.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But it’s a feeling so familiar, a feeling he’s missed more than words could ever begin to describe, and it’s as if the numbness from the past few months has vanished, giving way to the permanent molten ache in his chest. He sighs softly, pulling her closer, an arm coiling around her waist. Her hands come up to wrap around his shoulder, threading softly through the curls at the nape of his neck as she deepens the kiss. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They’ve missed this, so much, their chests locking together like magnets, pulled apart for so long. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And it’s in that moment, as they kiss by the fire, holding each other close, that they both silently thank whoever put that damn mistletoe there. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>and telling me, “i love you”</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Honey, I’m hooooome,” Peter calls into the apartment, bags of groceries balanced in the crook of his arms, one propped precariously on his shoulder, supported only by the tips of his fingers as he kicks the door shut behind him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thank God,” MJ groans from the couch, not moving from her spot as she holds a hand up and out for him. “Hey,” she calls to him again when he sets the paper bags on the kitchen counter. “C’mere. Check this out.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There’s a smile already growing on Peter’s face as he walks over, one bag still tucked in his arm. “What?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grinning from ear to ear, MJ lifts the bottom of her shirt, showing her growing bump. It’s not huge yet, but twelve weeks in, and she’s certainly bigger than normal. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Woah!” Peter’s eyes light up, though he tends to do that every time he looks at her belly now. He puts the bag down, kneeling down next to her, one of his hands coming to smooth over her bump. “There’s a little baby in there.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I think we’ve established that,” she jokes, her hand gently patting his. “Probably still looks a lot like a sea monkey right now.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“In a cute way, right?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her smile widens. “Definitely in a cute way.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His hand stays on her bump as he leans in to place a gentle peck on her forehead, his eyes sparkling when he pulls back to look at her. “What’s the fruit size for twelve weeks?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I think the app said a plum?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter <em>awwwws,</em> now leaning down to place a kiss right on her belly. “My li’l plum.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>MJ makes a face at that.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Fine,” He huffs. <em>“Our</em> li’l plum.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re such a dork,” she laughs, nudging him gently on the shoulder. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He snickers back before placing another set of kisses along her growing stomach. One spot makes a giggle bubble up from her chest, and she jumps slightly. “If you keep doing that you’re gonna get kicked.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“By you or the baby?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Me. Can’t feel the baby yet.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter closes his eyes, laughing into her shirt before sitting back on his heels. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her smile is soft as she looks at him. Her dork. She shifts her attention to the bag he’d brought over, finding herself curious. “What’s in the bag?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Again, his eyes light up as he lets out a gentle gasp. “There’s more in the kitchen, but this bag has all the goodies in it.” He reaches a hand in, pulling out a giant tin of hot chocolate mix and another of loose leaf peppermint tea. “For you, of course.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Amazing.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I also got some of those Hawaiian sweet rolls,” he says, grabbing exactly that. “You mentioned wanting those the other day, I think.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She did.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Then…” His tongue sticks out as he searches the bag. “I got some ice cream. I didn’t know if you’d want cookies and cream or chocolate chip… so I just got both.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thank you. You’re so sexy when you can’t make decisions.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter snorts, playfully shrugging off her hand that’s trying to dramatically caress his face. “And—stop that—and—” He laughs, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he holds out a cheap, plastic mistletoe. “This.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She rolls her eyes, half-heartedly pushing his hand away. “Peter.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It was in the check-out line! I was waiting a long time. I got bored.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And she shakes her head, smiling fondly. “I love you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He throws a wink at her before holding the mistletoe up between them, laughing when she grabs it from him and tosses it aside before pulling him in for a tender kiss. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His eyes are gleaming when he pulls back, one hand moving back to rest on her bump, his thumb drawing soothing lines into her skin. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I love you, too.”</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!! Lemme know what y'all thought!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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